Voidhawk: The Elder Race

by Jason Halstead

  “Aw come on Cap, he could go on some more,” Rosh said with a twinkle in his own eye.

  “No, no, he’s convinced me just fine,” Dexter said, glaring at the giant of a man.

  Rosh coughed to hide his chuckle, then shrugged.

  The priest looked between them, his head tilted in confusion at first. Then he shrugged and bowed his head deferentially. “The will of the Gods,” he muttered, as though that explained everything he couldn’t find a reason for.

  Jenna coughed behind Dexter. He knew better than to look, for he knew she was dying to burst out laughing. He walked past the man, leading the others, and made his way towards the edge of the hidden vale. Scarcely more than an arm’s length away the stream plunged over the edge dozens of feet to another small pool, and from there drained into descending rapids that led to the jungle below.

  “That’s a sight,” Jenna said softly beside him.

  Dexter nodded. The jungle was still there, but it had changed. It seemed less wild, almost like it had been tamed and thinned out to let the light in. Smoke rose in the distance from a large city. Dexter’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the city and measured the distance and direction of it from where they now stood.

  “What’s that?” Rosh asked, pointing at the city.

  “My Lord, it was once the mightiest of religious bastions to you. It has fallen over the years in splendor. You took so long to return… the people, their faith began to waver… they were weak…”

  Rosh grunted and the priest fell silent. Dexter rolled his eyes.

  “The ground you once did battle against the serpent and wolf remains sacrosanct, My Lord,” Mawa said in an almost pleading manner. “Your time with us was so quick, we’ve preserved everything we could but there are so many questions… so many different sects broke out, interpreting your lessons in different ways. Wars have been fought! Even the Wyndamere family could not hold the faithful together.”

  “You worship what I done?” Rosh asked, turning to face him.

  The priest stared at him, then quickly dropped his gaze and nodded. “With every fiber of my being,” he said reverently.

  “You’re a fool,” Rosh spat out. He turned, an angry light in his eyes as he stared at the city. “You’re all damn fools!”

  “My… My Lord?” Mawa stuttered.

  “I ain’t done nothing nobody else should do,” Rosh growled. “Don’t come looking to me for living right.”

  “Mawa, tell us please, who is the Wyndamere family?” Dexter asked, interrupting Rosh’s outburst. Dexter didn’t approve of Rosh getting a big head over the attention, but he could put up with it just fine if it made their life easier.

  Mawa nodded again zealously, turning happily from Rosh to Dexter. “The Wyndamere name was given to the son of the Holy Mother Sara. Your child, My Lord, as legend tells us.”

  Rosh looked away, ignoring the priest’s words. Dexter knew better; he could see the wheel’s spinning in Rosh’s head as he pretended to take in the sights.

  “It became a surname within a few generations, marking those of your line,” Mawa finished, trailing off in a way that seemed like a child who was afraid he had upset his parent. “My Lord, are the legends not accurate?”

  Rosh turned away from the view and stared at the priest. “I don’t know,” he told him. “That girl was nothing but a warm bed in a new port. I had a woman that deserved better than me, better than what I done. Now she’s gone just like your Holy Mother and we ain’t neither one of us got nothing to show for it.”

  The priest’s eyes widened and his cheeks paled. “But…but… 12,000 years! Hundreds of generations and you stay the same?”

  “Yeah, I’m the same,” Rosh said with contempt. He turned to look at Dexter. “We done here? You think the ‘Hawk could have made it 12,000 years?”

  Dexter frowned. He’d worried about the rest of his crew and the ship. Worrying about it would not help though. “I found the ‘Hawk in a sorry state and we put her back together. This time we got all the supplies we need, long as she’s still got the bones. If not, we’ll catch a ride on an elven boat and figure something out on the way.”

  “My Lord… what of me?” Mawa pleaded. “What would you have of me?”

  Rosh spat on the ground. “Do something,” he snapped, “stop wasting your life.”

  The priest stood there, mouth gaping, as Rosh led the way down the pass that had once been treacherous and hidden. Now it was smooth and well marked, even having parts of the mountain carved away to keep travelers safely from the edge of the river.

  They’d nearly left site of the shrine behind when they heard the young acolyte cry out again, and it was accompanied a moment later by the priest’s frantic cry.

  “Now what?” Dexter muttered, turning to walk back up and see what was going on. The elves they had freed were coming down the trail from their forbidden city. Both Mawa and his young acolyte fled towards Dexter seeking protection.

  “They’re friends,” Dexter said, trying to calm them.

  “Ancient tales, wicked and sinister,” Mawa babbled, trying to escape. “Cruel Masters… demons so vile they cannot take a proper body!”

  “Knock it off,” Dexter said, slapping the man soundly on his fleshy cheek. The priest stumbled back, shocked. He dropped his gaze instantly and fell to his knees, groveling.

  “They’re not demons, they’re elves. The good kind, like Jenna here,” Dexter told him, his voice rising to a barely controlled shout.

  His eyes raised to look at Jenna. She smiled and winked at him and he cried out and dropped his eyes.

  “Religion,” Dexter grumbled, “can make a mouse out of a man.”

  “Logan’s no mouse,” Jenna reminded him.

  “My Lord… is not the Goddess Jenna the Mistress of Temptation and Wickedness?” He asked, still staring at the ground.

  Jenna barked out a laugh before Dexter could organize his own thoughts to respond. “Well,” he said wryly, “she’s been known to have a touch of…”

  Unseen by Mawa, Jenna’s finger dug into Dexter’s kidney painfully. “She’s no more wicked then you or I, Mawa,” Dexter said with a grin.

  “She… but… the legends…”

  “Enough with your damn legends!” Rosh roared from behind. “They’re wrong, all of them! Open your damned eyes and ears and see what’s here and now!”

  Mawa quailed before them. The acolyte was edging off to the side, nervously glancing at both the Gods and the elves that approached.

  “If Jenna’s the Goddess of Wickedness and Temptation, what’s that make me?” Dexter wondered aloud. “Wait, never mind… it’s best I don’t know.”

  Dexter turned to look at Jenna and saw how she tried, but failed, to hide the smirk on her face. He rolled his eyes again and turned back to Mawa. “Get up,” he said, “and greet these elves. They’re friends.”

  “Captain,” Xander called out behind him. “Have you noticed that Mawa speaks the same language we do?”

  Dexter nodded. “Aye, I been chewing on that a bit.”

  “12,000 years is a lot of time,” Xander offered. “I expect their language evolved over the years and they mingled with other tribes of humans, joining words back and forth until it grew on a common base. Much like humans speak a common tongue throughout the void, here too they have come-“

  Dexter held up his hand, stopping the wizard. “Why do I ask?” He wondered aloud.

  The first of the elves reached the ground, a younger looking man that was closely followed by some other ones. He approached, smiling widely as he took in the sights around him. He paused when he saw Mawa trembling from where he still knelt on the ground, then looked up with a quizzical expression at Dexter.

  “He thinks you’re all demons,” Dexter explained, shrugging.

  The look on the elf’s face did not change. Dexter glanced back at Jenna and Xander and realized that language was again a barrier. At least with the elves.

  “Jenna, he’s not hearing me righ
t,” Dexter said.

  She nodded as though she had already figured that out and translated for him.

  The elf didn’t laugh at the accusation, as Dexter had expected. Instead he looked as though it pained him. He knelt down before Mawa and picked his head up so that he met his gaze. The priest was so terrified he didn’t dare to pull away. A distinctly unpleasant odor filled the air that Dexter began to pick up on. He looked to Jenna and saw her wrinkling her nose in disgust.

  “I am of flesh and blood as you are,” the elf said to him somberly. He pulled a knife from the belt at his waist and held it up. Mawa’s nostrils flared in fear. The elf brought the edge of the blade to his own forearm and drew it quickly across it, cutting deeply enough for blood to well up instantly. “I bleed as you bleed,” he said.

  Mawa stared in shock at the blood, then looked up at the elf, who was smiling at him. The priest glanced to Dexter, confused and uncertain.

  “He said he’s no different than you or I, the same flesh and the same blood,” Dexter offered.

  Mawa’s eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped to the ground unconscious.

  * * * *

  The trip into the Krestin, the Holy City, was easier than they remembered. The jungle was more hospitable, though they weren’t foolish enough to believe danger might not lurk around every tree. Ages of travel and tending had domesticated it to the point of being almost a leisurely stroll.

  The trek put them at ease even after they left the stricken priest and his acolyte in the care of the elves. Dexter had recommended the elves wait a bit, not wanting a repeat of the scenario that might start a war. Nearly six hours later they found themselves hot, sweaty, tired, but in surprisingly good spirits as they entered Krestin.

  “Hey!” Xander cried out as he felt a tug at his robes. A boy darted through the multi-racial crowd that moved sluggishly near the entrance. Dexter turned quickly, instantly alert, and made a grab for the kid. He missed, but succeeded at knocking over the leader of two women who carried some sort of rolled up rug between them.

  The rug dropped and fell to the ground, causing a shriek from both women. They hurried to pick up the carpet, unrolling it enough in the process to cause Dexter to stare in disbelief. A body was bundled within it. The body was deceased and somewhat desiccated, but unmistakably human.

  Dexter spun to keep his balance as he was pushed from the side. He reached for his pistol defensively, but not before somebody from the other side grabbed him roughly. He looked up into the imposing face of a dark skinned man who was glaring fiercely at him. The other man, also dark skinned and wearing clothing and jewelry similar to the one that had a hold of him, drew back his fist in a clear attempt to knock several of Dexter’s teeth loose.

  Hooded to hide her elven heritage, Jenna slipped behind him, her smaller form less conspicuous and threatening. She looped her arm around the pugilist’s neck and pulled as she kicked a foot into the back of his knee. He collapsed to the ground, rolling and knocking more people who hadn’t already scattered to the ground.

  Rosh grappled with the man holding Dexter, prying his arms free of their hold easily and twisting the man about. He snapped his head forward, head butting him, and sent him staggering back into the crowd.

  Angry cries went up around them, causing the crowd to surge back towards them. The dark skinned protectors of the original women that Dexter had bumped into were swallowed up by the crowd; but they seemed to be the least of their concern.

  “Weapons?” Rosh called out, one hand on his pistol and another cocked and ready to throw a haymaker at the first person to step within range.

  “Been a while since we’ve had a good brawl,” Dexter responded as he adjusted his shirt and readied himself for the pending fracas.

  “12,000 years,” Jenna quipped, standing beside Dexter and staring into the angry mob from beneath the hood of her cloak.

  “Xander… hey, where’d he go?” Dexter asked, glancing around. The wizard had disappeared in the chaos. “Anybody see him?”

  “He slipped into the crowd after the thief, Captain,” Keshira responded. She stood calmly, as though unaware of what was about to happen.

  “Coward,” Dexter muttered.

  The crowd was pushed in close enough by those behind them that Rosh lashed out. His punch sent the man he clobbered into another and a small cascading effect of tumbling took place. The first man, the one the warrior had hit, showed no signs of getting back up. The others yelled in renewed outrage and battle was joined.

  In the first few seconds Dexter lost sight of Jenna, Rosh, and Keshira. He heard Rosh swearing and a lot of cries of pain, as well as an infrequent shout from Jenna. He was too busy fending off the angry mob to put too much mind to their cries. He punched and grappled as best he could in the constantly shifting landscape. The one thing he knew he must not do was lose his footing.

  A fiery lance of pain erupted in his back. He twisted around frantically, freeing himself from whatever had stabbed him and saw a man with a dagger grinning savagely at him. He tried to stab again but Dexter smashed his arm down and punched him squarely between the eyes. Somebody else clubbed him on the back of the head and he staggered, his vision doubling for a moment.

  “Enough!”

  Dexter shook his head, trying to clear it. The word was shouted a few more times and the people around them seemed to be heeding the command.

  Dexter stared as they fell back and away, murmuring something about “The Golden Lady.” He looked to his companions and saw they were in a similar state of disarray as he was, all except for Rosh. Rosh stood tall, chest heaving slightly. He straightened his own shirt and cracked his neck, then grinned defiantly into the crowd.

  Jenna looked none the worse for wear. Neither did Keshira though she once again seemed to have her clothing in disarray. He glanced at himself and realized he was hardly fit for dinner with royalty himself. He took a step and gasped at the pain in his back.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenna asked, seeing his pained expression.

  Dexter made a gesture with his thumb behind his back. “Got stabbed,” he muttered, then glanced around until his eyes fell on the unconscious man that had punctured him. A few inches from his body lay the offending dagger.

  Dexter limped over to him, reached down to grab the dagger, then drove it into the man’s thigh. He jerked in his blunt trauma induced sleep. “You like that?” He growled, then limped over to Jenna and Rosh.

  The crowd parted as someone approached. It was no simple city guardsmen, but a woman astride the back of a fearsome looking creature. It was covered in sleek white fur and had slightly feline features, though it possessed six feet. The woman was remarkable as well, for she wore metal armor the gleamed golden in the evening sunlight.

  “You the Golden Lady?” Dexter asked, staring up at her.

  “I am,” she said, reaching up and raising her plumed helm to reveal a strikingly beautiful dark skinned face. She looked to be young as well, or at least what Dexter considered young after his own recent ordeals. “Who are you? You haven’t the look nor the feel of Krestin.”

  “Just travelers passing through, thought we’d pay our respects to the Holy City,” Dexter said. “Bit of a dust up here, sorry for any troubles we caused. Misunderstanding is all.”

  “Your man caught my tornin trying to steal from him, I’d have had him beaten and that would have been the end of it,” she said, motioning to something Dexter could not see.

  Xander was pushed into the small clearing next to Dexter, stumbling and falling as he did so. He climbed to his feet when, a moment later, the would-be-thief that had tried to pick his pocket was cast into the ring of people as well.

  “Instead, your misunderstanding spilt blood on holy ground.” Her eyes taking in the man Dexter had stabbed, as well as a few others that Rosh had brained with his heavy handed fists that were still dripping from crushed noses and torn ears.

  “Seemed easier to go the way the wind was blowing,” Dexter interrupt
ed, shrugging. “Sleepy over there was the first to draw blood, if that’s a sin.”

  “You, warrior, I watched you fight,” She said, turning to look at Rosh and ignoring Dexter. “You fight with the strength of ferocity of a wersal,” she complimented, patting her mount affectionately. “Survive your trial and there will be a place in my company for you.”

  “Your company?” Dexter asked. “Who are you, exactly?”

  “I am the Golden Lady, knave!” She snapped at him. “I am Tasha Wyndamere, Captain of the Claws of Rosh! Have you not heard of them?”

  Dexter fought to hide the grimace made by the ache in his back from the chill that shot down his spine. “Sorry, can’t say as we have.”

  “Do the others have voices or do you hold their tongues in your purse?” She challenged, looking from one to the next. “You, remove your hood. I would look upon you.”

  Jenna reached up slowly. Dexter cursed under his breath and looked to Rosh. Rosh nodded in silent understanding. She pulled her hood back and stared defiantly at Tasha.

  Tasha’s eyes widened. A murmur spread through the crowd though no one seemed to know just what Jenna was, unlike the priest.

  “Do you know who I am?” Jenna asked her, taking a dangerous step towards the armored woman.

  Tasha nodded. “I know what you are,” she hissed. “You’ll not find us so easy to control this time!”

  “We got no want for controlling anyone,” Dexter snapped. “Just wanting to be on our way. You point us toward the lake and you got no fear of seeing us again.”

  “I have no fear!” She shouted. The crowd around her rustled anxiously. “The trial will be conducted now! Stand ready, heathens, and prove your right to live!”

  “What sort of trial is this?” Dexter asked, glancing about nervously. “Don’t seem fair, me being stabbed and all.”

  “Trial by combat,” she said, smiling triumphantly. “My loyal wersal against your champion. Choose wisely, all of your lives depend on it.”

  Dexter’s eyes widened as he took in the six legged wersal. Dexter had seen a few horses in his time in the void, though they were rare, but he’d never seen anything like the wersal. It stood almost as tall as a horse and had fangs and teeth designed for catching and chewing on large mammals. The claws on its feet seemed prepared to climb a tree or, more likely, tear the arms and legs off a man.